


Through the Woods We Ran

by Natileroxs



Series: Hold Your Horses Now [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Beta Read, Gen, One Shot, Self-Hatred, Substance Abuse, Time Travel, i just love her so much, mentions of Jake Harley/Beta Jake English, poor mom lalonde, she needs more love too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natileroxs/pseuds/Natileroxs
Summary: She'd been alone in her room for quite some time. Perhaps you should go check on her.Title is from Mountain Sound by Of Monsters and Men





	Through the Woods We Ran

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the feels.
> 
> Big thanks to my friend ArcOnyx for beta reading this.

You love your darling daughter. She is the shining glory, the light in your life. She is the sun that warms your heart. You need her. But you don’t deserve her.  

 

She’s special, smart and self-reliant. She can function while you lay unconscious on your expensive leather couch, drink in hand, drooling with messy hair and lipstick covering your cheeks in perfect kiss marks. You don’t deserve a brilliant daughter like her. And she doesn’t deserve a failure like you. She deserves more.

 

When you were young, Jake had cared for you in his own distant and disconnected way. He’d taught you of your existence, of your purpose, and you’d sobbed and cried and shouted. Then you’d turned to alcohol as a way to soothe your loneliness, your impending doom.

 

Part of you denied that it would ever come to play, that he’d lied to you and that he had been doing it just to make a mockery out of you as he’d done his own children. For you had cared for them much more than he had.

 

But you were proven wrong, as she had crashed into your life with no more explanation as to why. All you had was cryptic stories told by a deadbeat father and a few ridiculous theories you’d accumulated through your research.

 

And now, now you wonder why you’d doubted him. Why you had thought yourself better than her.

 

Rose. A beautiful little girl who should have more than you to take care of her. She doesn’t really need you, did she? She can function on her own. It is more like she has to take care of you. Of your mess, of your mistakes. Aren’t you supposed to be the one to make her breakfast, to read to her, to sing her to sleep, to kiss her on the forehead? To love her. To care for her.

 

You are a disappointment to her. You know it. And in all honesty, you’re a disappointment to yourself.

 

So why do you still lie here? You haven’t checked on her in a while. You could be doing more for her, turning yourself around, fixing yourself up. So that she doesn’t have to do everything herself, doesn’t have to raise herself. So that she can be a child for as long as she could be, as long as she should be.

 

You can barely move an inch before a painful headache reminds you of last night’s regrets. You massage your temples and make a move to stand. The polished wood beneath you makes your feet slip and slide about and you find yourself wearing soft woolen socks, more than likely the courtesy of your six-year-old daughter. Whom you should check on, right now.

 

And so you do, taking every step one at a time until you make your way to the hall. You press your hand against the wall, using it to stabilize yourself, feeling every little bump and crevice. Light peeks out of her room and you finally notice the rain, hear it pounding on the roof, see the dark clouds from the window, feel the shadows creeping up behind you.

 

You could just slip into them now, she wouldn’t even know. She wouldn’t know you’d made it all the way to her doorway, that you’d actually gotten up and tried to make a connection with her.

 

You step forward.

 

Sobbing. You hear sobbing.

 

Quiet, almost muffled crying is coming from your daughter’s room. But why?

 

Is it you, had she finally broken and realized that you’re a mess and that she’ll never be able to relax and have someone take care of her?

 

Your fingernails, so perfectly shaped and painted, scratch ever so lightly on the doorframe. But it’s enough. The crying ceases. You peek inside and freeze.

 

A girl who is much too old to be your child lays, curled up on your daughter’s bed. Her eyes rubbed red and raw, peer at you with shock shining deeply in them. They’re coloured such a unique and bright purple that matches Rose’s too much for you to come up with any single coherent word.

 

Her dress, sunny orange and yellow, sticks out like a sore thumb across the lavender bed sheets. Her shoes, kicked across the room, are the colour of the sky and are dainty and much too big for a six-year-old.

 

“Mommy?” She whispers, her voice wavering slightly as she struggles to get to grips with the situation. Not that you know that.

 

She sits up, adjusting her skirt ever so slightly as if it’s out of habit more than a conscious decision. Her hair, while sticking up here and there, is sitting nicely in a bob, headband skewered a little.

 

“Rose?” Your attempt to keep your voice even is foiled by the nervousness clawing at your insides. You don’t know what to do. You know this can’t be your daughter. Can it?

 

“Mom,” She speaks a bit louder, a little clearer, and pushes her bare feet into the carpet. You take a tentative step forward.

 

She suppresses a sob but you can see the unshed tears in her eyes.

 

“Rosie?”

 

That’s all it takes. She leaps off the bed and into your arms and you stiffen for only a minute before clutching her tightly. She mutters incoherent words as her eyes let liquid glass seep out of them and slide down the bit of her face that’s not pressed into your shoulder.

 

A loud clap of thunder.

 

“I-I missed you so much,” She attempts to muster enough strength to look up at you but collapses. You slowly guide her to the floor and her skirt and yours pool around the both of you. You stroke her hair and she slowly starts to let out proper sobs, howling loudly. You don’t dare push her away even if you are unsure what is going on.

 

“Baby?” You let out a single worded question as soon as she quietens to occasional whimpers and sniffles.

 

“I’m sorry, mom,” She finally looks up at your face, her beautiful eyes taking in every inch of your face. “I’m really- “ She chokes on the words and then composes herself as much as she can. “I’m so sorry, Mommy,”

 

You tilt your head ever so slightly and she gets this pondering look on her exhausted face.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Rose…” You say her name with uncertainty.

 

She stares at you as if that was definitely not the comment she had been expecting.“But it’s all my fault,” Her fingers tap lightly across your arm. You brush her hair away from her face. “I did it, I left you alone and then I lost you forever. And I couldn’t even control myself afterward. I was wild. I destroyed myself and let myself be consumed instead of being strong.”

 

“Baby, I know this must be confusing, but I honestly don’t understand what you’re talking about.” You wipe a stray tear away from her face. “You were a young child the last time I saw you, I don’t understand…” Her lips wobble.

 

“Is this even real?” She asks, not to you but to everything around you, to the world. To every universe and to every person that’s willing to listen.

 

“I think so.” Even you’re not sure.

 

You’re never too sure about things. Except for one thing.

 

You love your daughter, with all your heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though Grandpa Harley isn't shown in a great light in this chapter, he will be redeemed. All of the parents will be, especially Bro, as he's portrayed as kind of a dick in most fics.


End file.
